


Kinesthesia

by stilinstuck (superagentwolf)



Series: Paresthesia [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, BAMF Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Magical Tattoos, Pack in College, Peter Hale & Stiles Stilinski Friendship, Sex Magic, Shameless Smut, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 02:05:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/superagentwolf/pseuds/stilinstuck
Summary: Kinesthesia: Noun; awareness of the position and movement of the parts of the body by means of sensory organs in the muscles and joints-After remembering, Derek decides he's still definitely attracted to Stiles. Starting again becomes a fun project for them, as well as figuring out just how well Stiles can control his Spark in...compromising situations. Unfortunately, Beacon Hills is waking up- and it's attracting a host of problems. With posturing werewolves and a possible evil spirit on the loose, Derek and Stiles might have to put their new relationship on the back burner.*May be read as a standalone*





	1. Convenient and Fun

Stiles flies through the air as if he’s some sort of god, pale and black and red. His hoodie is open, the bloody color screaming in the dark. Derek can see his black tattoos under the barely-there grey tank top he’s wearing, one strap hanging off his shoulder.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks, _I might love him._

Stiles roars and swings his bat, the deep grey metal flashing in the moonlight. His eyes are golden, sparks burning above his skin. He smells like fire and magic.

There’s a resounding _crack_ and then Cora sprints by Derek, casting him a glance as she tackles an omega. He blinks, reminding himself that he should be focusing, but by then it’s too late. Laura and Malia have already rounded up the other intruders and Laura is waiting a few feet away, arms crossed.

She barely raises an eyebrow at Derek as he returns but it’s enough to get the message through.

“A gift,” Stiles says, smirking as he shoves his captive forward. The man is shackled with Stiles’ wolfsbane-woven handcuffs, his wrists already spidering with black.

Laura looks down at the man, maintaining a neutral expression even though her fingers twitch on her arm. She wants to smile, Derek knows. She’ll probably get Stiles some chocolate when they get home.

Malia, Peter, and Cora drag their offerings up. Derek moves next to his sister, a position of flanking and support. The wolves before them are in varying states of injury, furious and staring.

“So. Now is the time that you tell me why you’re in my territory,” Laura says coolly, tilting her head.

One of the men- Malia’s- spits on the ground, the blood landing on the edge of Laura’s boot. Malia yanks him by the hair, unworried, ready to knock him out. Laura stops her with a bare incline of her head, stepping forward to stare the man in the face.

“You have one chance- all of you,” she adds, stepping back to look at them all, “after that, the resident Hunters will deal with you- and I can guarantee they won’t be forgiving.”

“…we were looking for a place,” Stiles’ prisoner says, casting his fellow wolves a sidelong glance, “and we heard the pack in this area was splintered. One family, no more.”

“For a splintered family, we’re doing pretty well, wouldn’t you say?” Cora asks drily.

“You will leave,” Laura says firmly, “and you will never return. When they ask, _please_ do tell them what happened to you. We’re getting sick of turning wolves out with their tails between their legs.”

“…bitch,” the man spits quietly, glaring at the ground before him.

Derek growls, ready to back Laura up when she speaks, but Stiles twists the man’s arm and then he’s screaming. The younger man doesn’t even look down at his victim, eyes locked on Laura.

“What do you think? Break, or dislocate?” His expression is flat, as if he’s discussing dinner plans.

Derek feels his heart pound painfully in his chest. _I have a problem,_ he thinks. He’s pretty sure part of it has to do with his…condition. Being a werewolf hasn’t desensitized him to violence; it has, if anything, made him hyperaware. His awareness, then, makes him realize just how controlled Stiles is.

He could kill the prisoner on a whim, do anything without asking- yet his only move is made to support Laura and the pack, to prove a point about how strong they are. How he will defend them and fight alongside him.

Derek’s a huge sucker for loyalty. He also, maybe, just a little, enjoys the idea of someone as powerful- or even more powerful- than he is. Than they are, as wolves.

“…we don’t want to seem cruel,” Laura muses.

“Of course not,” Stiles agrees, moving in a sudden _swish_ , and then his prisoner is choking down a cry. He looks down at the man, unmoved. “Be quiet. You can reset it once you leave town.”

“We’ll send you on your way now,” Laura says, gesturing briefly. The rest of the Hales release their charges, standing shoulder to shoulder in a proud line.

Stiles holds his man a moment longer, letting go and whispering to the man. He knows he can be heard; Derek knows this, the Hales know this- everyone knows. Yet he still does it.

“Remember,” he whispers, “I’m not part of the Pack. I’m a witch. Your rules don’t apply to me.”

He smiles easily, waving with his fingers in a slow move. Derek can see the man shrink away, something like fear and mistrust in his eyes. The wolves take off, heading towards the city limits, and Derek tries not to stare too hard at Stiles.

“It’s not working,” Malia mutters under her breath as she shoulders past him.

_Of course._

He joins Stiles on the way back home, knowing that at least he won’t make his family uncomfortable with his obvious arousal. It’ll be difficult to sit next to Stiles, though.

“How’s the apartment?” Stiles asks, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Derek works up the nerve to speak without giving himself away. He pretends to think, leaning against the door.

“It’s all right. I washed the sheets yesterday, so everything smells nice.”

Stiles nods, distracted by something. Derek decides not to push it. He shifts in his seat, hoping they get back soon. He blinks when Stiles takes a turn, splitting away from the others.

“Where-,”

“I’m sure you haven’t done shit around your place,” Stiles says pointedly, “and I left dinner ready. I’ll help you out and we can get takeout or something.”

He doesn’t argue because it wouldn’t do any good. And…he really doesn’t want to turn down the offer. At least he might have time to calm down if they do housework. All he can think about is Stiles’ arms, the dotted moles like constellations. The way he could see the ink on his back when his shirt rode up.

_This isn’t helping._

He leads the way up, unlocking the door and slipping inside.

“I did wash the sheets,” he starts, turning as he throws his leather jacket on the sofa, “but I-,”

His voice dies in his throat as Stiles tosses his hoodie aside, looking around with his hands in his pockets. His shirt is stretched and thin, the grey material making him look somehow glowing, as if he’s the moon. His sweatpants fit well- another blessing, he thinks, and one of his favorite parts of the strange workouts Stiles does with Peter.

He looks ready to be undressed. _God, I hope he is,_ Derek thinks, deciding there’s no point in trying to fight it anymore. It’s been three months since he decided to try to restart his friendship and all he wants to do is get back to where they were before.

He steps into Stiles’ space, pulling him in, marveling at how cool his skin is. There’s no time to consider it- ask if he’s cold- because he kisses him instead, unable to contain a small hum of pleasure when he feels the warm mouth against his.

It feels just as good as he hoped it would. Stiles immediately pushes back, hands curling under Derek’s white shirt to pull them closer together. Derek feels like he’s chasing a spark inside Stiles’ mouth, the heat drawing him further in.

“Mmm- hold on,” Stiles manages, pulling away for a moment, and Derek instantly freezes.

 _Shit,_ he thinks, _I shouldn’t have-_

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, hands retreating, but the Stiles catches his wrists.

“No- no, no, I just- I wanted to let you know something,” Stiles says, half-laughing, “I, um…I might…accidentally…break things.”

Derek waits, blank. _Break things?_ He shakes his head, confused.

“Break…?”

“Um- I haven’t…had sex, with another person, since the latest magic level-up. You know. So…I might not be able to concentrate. Or I might just lose control. It’s-,”

“It’s fine,” Derek says, still not sure if this is his life. If any of this is actually happening, or if he’s just having a particular stupid dream. _A dream about having sex with a witch who just happens to be a childhood friend I forgot about…_

“Okay. Oh- and…you don’t have to be careful. I can take you if I need to. If something’s wrong, I’ll let you know,” he smirks.

 _Jesus Christ,_ Derek thinks, ripping Stiles’ shirt in the process of yanking him closer again. He hears the younger man laugh, long fingers slipping teasingly up the back of his shirt. He stumbles backwards towards the bedroom, not sure where he’s going but trusting Stiles to correct him if he gets too off track.

They eventually fall onto the bed, Stiles somehow maneuvering him out of his jeans in the process. Derek laughs, feeling the sheets hitch under their squirming bodies. Stiles shakes his head, eyes glittering honey-brown in the dimming light.

“You’re a fucking nerd, Derek. Why are you laughing-,”

“I’m a nerd?” Derek teases, a hand curling around Stiles’ arm.

He is suddenly very aware that they are both undressed. Stiles leans over him, smirking, and Derek tugs his hair to kiss him. He shivers when their skin brushes, enjoying the feel of Stiles’ chest resting against his.

 _You don’t have to be careful._ He hears the words echo in his head and he thinks maybe it was an invitation. It wouldn’t hurt to try, he knows.

He thinks in any other situation, it wouldn’t be easy to flip Stiles. It seems like Stiles is just letting Derek get away with it, for one reason or another. It’s reassuring and Derek leans over Stiles, taking time just to look.

 _Now_ Stiles is blushing. His eyes flick to the side, gold and enticing.

“…enjoying the show?” he asks, half humorous, but there’s a hint of nervousness there.

“I’ve been enjoying it,” Derek murmurs, tracing a line of moles across Stiles’ chest. The man shivers beneath him, fingers twisted in the sheets.

Something smells like burning.

“Shit-,” Stiles says, noticing the faint singe to the sheets, “I’ll buy-,”

Derek can only manage to choke out a laugh before he bends down, biting Stiles’ lip and swallowing the moan he gets in response. There are nails scraping his sides, the sting grounding him as he loses his sense of direction and the world around them.

When he breaks away, he feels a small seed of triumph as Stiles follows him for an inch. He can really only think of one thing- one way to show Stiles just how much he actually cares. The one way he knows how to do it is to focus. Focus on him and his pleasure because that is what he wants- _besides, I’m clearly not having any trouble getting turned on by him._

He ducks down easily and rests one hand on Stiles’ hip, enjoying the feeling of bone beneath the skin. He can already smell the salt and skin when he opens his mouth, pleased by the resulting cry and the way Stiles arches off the bed. He can taste Stiles on his tongue, breathing deeply as if he can surround himself in the other man.

“ _Oh_ my God-,” Stiles breathes heavily, the faint smell of smoke returning, “Derek-,”

 _If he’s still talking, I’m not doing my job,_ Derek thinks with amusement. He moves easily, conscious of the fact that the sound of his mouth on Stiles’ dick is echoing in the empty apartment. Loudly, in fact. _And now I’m making myself more excited than he is,_ he thinks, reminding himself to focus. His free hand moves up to work in tandem with his mouth, firm as it works around Stiles.

He’s glad when the only sounds left are Stiles trying and failing to say things. All that comes out are bits and pieces, words cut off by moans as he twists on the bed. He’s not sure how long it goes on until he feels heavy and tense, reaching the edge.

Stiles tugs at him, his hands moving from Derek’s hair to his free arm. It’s a clear invitation, calling him back. He leaves Stiles with a resounding _pop_ , purposefully messy because he knows Stiles is getting wrecked on the noise as much as the feeling.

He almost laughs when he notices that the frame of the bed is curled inwards where Stiles gripped it at some point. Even the sheets are faintly browned in some spots from the fire of his skin. He wonders briefly what it would be like in water and decides it’s a task for another day.

“Hold on-,” Derek says, turning to reach for his desk, but Stiles pulls him back.

“Magic,” he winks, mischievous and flushed. Derek pauses, mouth half-open. “It comes in handy.”

 _He’s making a fucking pun,_ Derek thinks, and then he leans in to kiss Stiles as he positions himself. He’s both exasperated and enchanted, thinking only that he’s still going to give Stiles time to relax before he blindly pushes. He uses a free hand to explore, pushing gently with one finger and then another.

And then Stiles bites his shoulder.

It goes straight to his dick. It also makes his fangs drop, eyes flashing erratically as he tries to control himself. He’s always wondered why the hell certain things can spark the wolf side of werewolves; he gets the feeling he’s going to find out a lot more with Stiles around.

“Guess we found your on button,” Stiles breathes raggedly, a laugh twisting airily as Derek stretches with his fingers.

“Time to find yours,” Derek growls, leaning over Stiles as he readies himself. He waits a moment, questioning, knowing there is always still time to stop. Stiles doesn’t say anything, smirking instead as he guides Derek with one hand.

The second he enters Stiles he knows he won’t last long.

They’re both already too close, he thinks, probably because they were already horny to begin with and this is the first time they’ve ended up falling into bed together. They can’t really focus on what they’re doing or what they want to do, everything happening in a random domino effect. Everything is one moment followed by the next, a string of decisions and desires pulled out as much as possible.

He likes the sound they make, the bare slap of skin audible even over their breathing and noises. Stiles grips his arms with burning hands and Derek wonders if he were human if he’d be burned. He can feel himself burning, both naturally and because of whatever power Stiles isn’t quite practiced yet at containing.

They both push over the edge so close together he wonders if it’s the magic again. He feels Stiles grip him tighter, suddenly gasping and arching, and then he feels a final pulse behind his eyelids. He thinks they might be yelling into one another and he knows they are breathing, mouths open but not quite kissing because they can’t figure out how to do anything other than feel.

When they finally shudder to the end, he slides off Stiles and onto the sheets next to him. He feels sweaty and tired and hungry but satiated in an impossibly complete way.

“…sorry about the bed,” Stiles manages, laughing breathlessly.

“I like the way it looks,” Derek chuckles, “especially with you in it.”

Stiles shakes his head, one arm slapping over his forehead in a lazy move.

“We just finished, Der. Don’t start again. We should eat first.”

 _Again._ It makes him warm hearing it. He feels relieved even though he knows Stiles wouldn’t just casually have sex with him. He’s too thoughtful to do that, especially when they’ve already known each other for some time.

“Okay,” Derek agrees, “a nap and then Chinese. Deal?”

“Deal,” Stiles grins, tugging the sheets over their legs, “and maybe next time I won’t burn your sheets.”

“Maybe. Or next time, maybe we can actually make them catch fire.”


	2. Fly, You Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up the day after to a not-so-pleasant circumstance. Luckily, he's quick on his feet and pretty optimistic. You have to be, to live in Beacon Hills.   
> It's a good thing he has friends. Really, really good friends.

He is sleepy. Very, very sleepy.

Something has pulled him awake. He turns in his bed, squinting in the darkness of the room. He realizes it’s not his- it’s Derek’s. Fragments come to him, quick and blurry, reminding him of what happened. He smiles to himself, looking to his side.

Derek isn’t there.

His brow furrows. He wonders if the man is in the kitchen or the bathroom. Somewhere else. He looks towards the clock on the bedside table, confused. The numbers are all threes- backwards. _What?_ He reaches out towards it, thinking maybe there’s been a power outage, and then something creaks in the next room.

“…Derek?”

There’s no answer. He slips out of bed, worried. He doesn’t think there could be anyone attacking- even if they’d followed them to Derek’s, Stiles’ wards should have warned him. He pads towards the living area, inching past the small gap in the sliding door. It’s dark.

“Derek? Are you out here? Come on- I miss my space heater.”

He swallows through the lump in his throat, skin itching. He wants to turn all the lights on. The moon shines through the windows and he peers around every corner, trying to find Derek. There’s nothing.

Until the front door rattles.

“Derek?”

He walks up to it, nervous, trying to glance through the peephole. The hallway is pitch black. He strains to see, hoping it’s Derek coming back from some random trip, offering brunch as an apology. That’s what he wants it to be.

Instead, something pounds against the door and he jumps back, chest rising in a gasp. He looks around, eyes landing on a baseball bat, and arms himself. It’s not the best defense but it’s something. He steps back, pulling a tiny bag out of the jacket he’d thrown on the couch earlier. His supernatural cocktail, ready for use.

The door shakes. He waits, ready, staying still even as the metal flies off its hinges and lands a foot in front of him. There is a low gasp, choked and guttural, some sort of smoke issuing from the hallway. Stiles feels something cold grip him, a fear settling into his bones.

_Stiiiiileeeessss…_

He holds his bat up, prepared, the voice needling into every pore. It feels like oil, slick and chemical, killing everything it touches. He wants to get away from it. He backs up a step, thinking space will give him an advantage, and then he bumps against something.

Something rough, dry, and damp at the same time. He swallows, turning to look and hating the thought of what he might see.

He finds a face, bandaged and unrecognizable, the sick smell wafting from it like a reeking garbage can. His heart stops. For a moment, he thinks it won’t be so bad, and then the thing opens its mouth to hiss again.

_Stiles!_

He screams.

-

“Stiles? Stiles, wake up.”

Stiles comes to almost immediately, eyes snapping wide open. Derek holds his breath. Something in the look on Stiles’ face betrays a deep terror; he hasn’t ever seen a look like that since the fire. He certainly hasn’t seen a look like that on Stiles before.

“…Derek?”

“It worries me that you wake up screaming the morning after we had sex.”

Thankfully, it makes Stiles laugh, if only a little. He looks around the room, tense. As if he’s expecting to see something. He swings his legs out of bed, determined, and leaves the bedroom. Derek follows him, bemused and curious. Stiles paces around the loft, back straight, entire body tense. He stares at the door, watching and waiting.

“…expecting something?” Derek asks, bemused.

There’s a loud knock and Stiles almost jumps straight into the air. His eyes are wide and he breathes heavily, striding forward and grabbing a baseball bat in the corner without looking at it. He swings the door open, prepared, and Derek starts feeling worried.

It’s Peter.

“…again?” the man says, raising an eyebrow, “not that I’m opposed…”

“Peter,” Stiles breathes, still half in a daze. Derek watches his uncle move closer, scrutinizing.

“What is it, Little Red?” the man asks, fingertips brushing Stiles’ wrist.

Derek has to fight the surge of possessiveness he feels. He reminds himself that Stiles is not his- besides which, Peter isn’t really interested. He’s being supportive. Actually, he’s acting like a werewolf would when one of their pack members is distressed.

Stiles leans into the touch, eyes still fixed over Peter’s shoulder. He stares as if he thinks he can expel whatever it is he was so afraid of. Peter carefully reaches up, redirecting Stiles’ gaze with a hand at his cheek.

“Stiles. We need you to talk to us. Poor Derek is almost _whining_ in the corner over there.”

It’s not true. _Not really,_ Derek thinks, pouting. Still, it’s enough to snap Stiles out of his trance. He immediately looks back, guilty, and Derek smiles encouragingly. He accepts the hand that reaches blindly back towards him and they make their way to the couch. Peter follows closely, still attuned to Stiles’ mood.

“It wasn’t a dream,” he starts, looking as if he’s searching for words. A first, Derek thinks, for the usually chatty Stiles.

“One of your…threads vibrating?” Peter asks, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles has described his wards before. _Like a net,_ he’d said, _yarn with pins in important places. Like your house._ They help him navigate Beacon Hills, Derek knows, and help locate trouble when it comes. Almost like a spider using its web to catch prey. _Gross. What about bats? Bats are cool,_ Stiles had said, grinning.

“No. Not that. It…everything about it was like a dream, except it wasn’t.”

“A hallucination?” Derek asks.

“…no,” Stiles whispers but he looks scared.

Peter glances at Derek, something in his eyes serious. Peter is never completely serious- there’s always some kind of mischief or relaxation in his attitude; the fact that the man is stern and quiet unsettles Derek.

“Your mother,” he realizes, “didn’t she…,”

“Frontotemporal dementia,” Stiles says, the words dead and cold, “that’s what she had. It’s the only kind of dementia that can hit teenagers, too.”

“Good thing you’re not a teenager, then,” Derek says uneasily, trying to make him feel more at ease. Stiles smiles faintly but there’s still a hint of fear in his posture. “We can get someone- someone in our network. We know people-,”

“No,” Stiles says, suddenly straightening as if he’s decided, “we don’t know what this is yet. If that’s it, there’s no point in getting a diagnosis. For now, I’m going to check the wards. Every. Single. One. If this is something trying to mess with me, I’ll find it and I will _kill it._ ”

Peter smirks, leaning back into the sofa. This is the Stiles they know and love- spitting fire and threatening supernatural entities. None of his earlier hesitancy remains. _That doesn’t mean I’m going to leave him alone,_ Derek thinks. Especially not if there’s a potential creature trying to play mind games with him.

“I’ll be your escort,” Peter says silkily, “our lovely Alpha would like to see Derek at the house. If I may?” he extends a hand to Stiles and smirks at Derek.

_Smug bastard,_ Derek thinks, trying to communicate the sentiment telepathically. He knows Peter can smell his irritation. The man grins wolfishly- a trait Derek has always marveled at- and helps Stiles off the couch.

“Have a great day,” Stiles says, smiling as he ducks down to kiss Derek.

_God, I missed him,_ Derek thinks, fully aware that they haven’t really been apart that long. He likes the way Stiles is warm, his Spark or maybe his metabolism driving his body heat up.

It would be perfect, except he can practically _hear_ Peter’s shit-eating grin. He thinks his uncle knows exactly how far under Stiles’ thumb his nephew is. Stiles walks away, yanking his jacket on, and Derek sends a glare towards his uncle. Peter just winks and shuts the door behind him.

“Jerk,” Derek mutters.

That’s what he says, but he’s still grinning from the kiss.

-

Peter drives. Stiles is grateful- it means he can go back to Derek’s later, since his Jeep is parked there. It also means he has a chance to make a call.

He is waiting, phone ringing, and Peter sends him a questioning glance.

“Allison,” Stiles murmurs.

“I thought it wasn’t that bad,” Peter replies, raising his eyebrows.

_Maybe. Or maybe not,_ Stiles thinks, remembering the burning smell and the dry creature. He’s never been so put off by something he’s seen before. Besides- the way it had appeared, it makes him think there is more trouble to come. Whatever happened last night was just a warning. A really terrifying warning, sure, but just a warning nonetheless.

“ _Stiles?_ ”

“Allison,” he says, breathing a sigh of relief just hearing her voice, “how are you?”

“ _Still fine since you called me two days ago. You’re not, though. What’s wrong?_ ”

That’s one thing he likes about her. Sweet, understanding, lovely Allison is also really good at getting shit done. He chalks it up to her personality and training as a Hunter.

“I’m not sure,” he says truthfully, “but I was wondering if you could check on something for me.”

“ _Anything._ ”

“I had a…weird…encounter last night.”

“ _Did Derek finally come around?_ ” she laughs brightly. He snorts and Peter even wrinkles his nose, shaking his head in the driver’s seat. Stiles jabs him lightly with an elbow.

“Not that. I- it was kind of like a dream but not really. It wasn’t the normal warnings I get from spells and wards. It felt real but I know I wasn’t awake. Or at least not fully awake.”

“ _Okay. What did you see?_ ”

“I don’t know. It was…a person, maybe? More like a creature. It smelled like burning and…something sick,” he says, trying to pinpoint it. Something nags at the back of his mind. “You know, it felt familiar somehow. Like maybe I’d seen something like it before.”

“ _Hm. On your travels?_ ”

“No. I’m not sure- sorry, I’m being really vague,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead.

“ _It’s okay,_ ” she says, and he imagines her smile. Allison, standing outside of the university she’s going to get her Master’s from, probably wearing boots and some sort of vintage leather jacket.

She’s one of the few islands of sanity that’s ever existed in Beacon Hills. He’s very glad the town didn’t kill her. _It’s taken so many others._

“Well, let me know if you find anything. No rush. It was just one…dream. Thing.”

“ _I’ll let you know,_ ” she promises, “ _and Stiles? Be careful. Okay?_ ”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling, “you too, Wonder Woman.”

Her laughter is the last thing he hears before he hangs up and Peter swerves.

-

“Hey, Der. Have fun last night?”

He glares at Cora. She isn’t paying attention, too engrossed in filing Malia’s nails. The other woman stares up at Derek, scrutinizing. She doesn’t look pleased but she’s not angry, either. _Guess I’m lucky,_ he thinks.

“Where’s Laura?”

“Backyard,” Malia answers, still giving Derek a once-over. He shakes his head and leaves the two alone.

His older sister is in the backyard, pacing in a circle, rotating her arms, serious. She looks like she’s preparing to fight someone. _I just hope it’s not me._ Aside from her Alpha status, Laura has simply always been good at hitting his weak spots. She knows him better than most people and takes very clear advantage of the fact.

“You wanted to talk?”

“I found something,” she says, beckoning.

Without explanation, she guides him towards the tree line. He follows closely, confused. Laura navigates the trees expertly, guiding him towards the trail beaten down by their constant use. She stops just before the path, holding an arm out to stop him. He stares.

“What?”

“Oh, come on,” she says, exasperated, “ _feel_ it.”

He pauses, unsure, and then his skin starts to itch. A low burn rests just beneath the surface, irritating and insistent. He steps back, eyes wide.

“…mountain ash?”

“Yeah. Someone sprinkled some nice stuff on our favorite trail.”

“Why…?”

“We’ve been under constant scrutiny lately. I thought it might end with the last group of idiots but I guess I was wrong. We’ll have to get Stiles or someone to clean it up. Where is he, by the way?” she smiles slyly.

“With Peter. He…had a weird dream, or something. Went to check his wards.”

“Hm. Weird,” she mutters, glancing around the area, “Well, we’re supposed to have the entire group over tonight. I think-,”

She’s cut off when Malia sprints from the house, eyes glowing and teeth sharp. They watch her approach, already tense and ready, and then she speaks.

“Jackson just called,” she says, “Stiles and Peter were attacked.”

-

The car screeches on the road, sliding as it stops. Stiles’ hands fly out in front of him instinctively, slamming against the dashboard. He winces, the sting radiating up his arms.

“ _Hurry,_ ” Peter growls, tearing off his seatbelt as he ducks out of the car.

There’s a man in the road. He looks like shit, Stiles thinks, and decidedly not werewolf-y. No, there’s something else very wrong with him. He winces at the smell coming from the man- something rotting, a low buzz emanating menacingly.

“Peter,” he cautions, inching back towards the car and his backpack. _Hold him._

The werewolf doesn’t have to be told. He already knows. Peter flies at the man, roaring and bloodthirsty, and Stiles tears the back door open. He yanks his bat from the bag, glad that he had the foresight to take it with him from Derek’s apartment. The metal is cool in his palms and he turns, ready to fight, only to see the man standing an inch in front of him.

He wants to yell Peter’s name, make sure the man is alright, but he knows he has to focus on the threat. He swings his bat, hoping there isn’t too much blood, but the man just…disperses.

“What the fu-,”

There are flies everywhere. He coughs, waving his arms as he walks away from the black cloud. Lights shine at him from the distance- _help,_ he thinks, glad, and he can see Peter getting up from where he was lying by the side of the road. The man is already healing, looking unharmed. Stiles feels relief for the briefest of moments before the man is suddenly there again, hissing something as he grabs Stiles by his throat.

He chokes, caught off guard, cursing himself for relaxing before he made sure to protect himself. His feet are already dangling and there are spots in his vision. He rehearses the best way to pass out, thinking only that he has to try not to hit his head too hard.

Something roars, flying at the man, and suddenly he drops to the ground. His shin hits the street painfully but he ignores it, coughing hoarsely as his fingers blindly reach for a bat. Peter has caught the man, fighting alongside another blurry shape.

“Stay down,” someone says. _Jackson,_ Stiles realizes, surprised.

“It’s pack night,” he realizes, laughter bubbling up in his throat.

“Yeah,” Jackson says, phone in hand, “I already called the others.”

_Oh. Great._ He can already see Derek sprinting down the road like some sort of super-powered werewolf steam train. The image makes him happier if only for a second.

The other person fighting the man flies back and Jackson takes the opening, running away. Stiles pulls himself up, wiping blood away from a road rash scratch on his jaw. The other figure rights itself, shaking its head in a strangely puppylike maneuver.

“Liam?”

“Hey,” he smiles, spitting blood onto the pavement.

“Watch out-,” Stiles starts to shout, watching the fly man race towards them, but Liam moves to intercept. _Good God. Stupid werewolves._ Still, he can’t help but feel a small seed of pride.

They’re his, after all.

He lets the werewolves duke it out, tracing a circle of salt around the battlefield. He thinks he can hear a howl in the distance- pack location, he thinks, wondering how far away they are. Considering the fly man is hard to hit, he doesn’t think numbers will matter anyway. _What I need is to tie him down,_ he thinks, hoping his magic will do the trick.

He finishes the circle with a rough crystal, lamenting the loss the same way he does any time he tries to trap something supernatural. He’s fully aware it’ll probably crack or shatter so he always says a small prayer to the gems, hoping they’ll be intact in the end. _So I like rocks,_ he’d pouted once, Laura laughing nearby, _they’re pretty._

He can tell it’s working because the black fog clinging to the man dissipates, only a faint aura left in the air like static. It struggles to return to him like a parasite, fighting the ward Stiles has set up.

“Now!” he yells, backing towards the edge of the circle. He can hear cars coming up to a halt nearby.

They’re all standing there when lightning strikes.

His first thought is _shit, no_ , because he knows how powerful lighting is and how quickly it can kill. Werewolves or no, he doesn’t think they have the power of resurrection. The lightning burns around them and there are assorted yells and screams. _Please don’t let anyone be hurt,_ he prays, blinking.

The fly man is coming at him and he stumbles, planning how he’s going to knock him away, and then suddenly the man goes flying. The body hits a tree and crumples, unmoving. Stiles blinks, looking up to see Liam standing over him.

“I _love_ you, Liam,” Stiles manages, grinning. The kid actually _blushes_ and Stiles wants nothing more than to hug him, so he does.

“Ow- ouch,” Liam winces, smiling reassuringly when Stiles immediately backs away, “just a hit. It’s already healing.”

“Good, ‘cause I’m not stitching anyone up,” Stiles jokes, “I’ll pass out.”

It’s a lie but they take it in stride, milling around to make contact with their pack members, relieved. Stiles sighs, already thinking of who he’ll have to call, and then Derek is suddenly there.

“You’re hurt.”

“It’s nothing- just some brusies and a scratch,” Stiles starts, waving a hand, but Derek pulls him close and suddenly nothing is important anymore.

He thinks he drops his bat to hold Derek’s scratchy cheeks, thoroughly enjoying the kiss.

Well. Maybe _too_ thoroughly.

Laura wolf whistles and Derek immediately backs away, face burning as he covers his mouth with a hand. Stiles snorts, flipping her off over her brother’s back. Jackson mutters a disgusted line somewhere in the distance but he’s smirking.

_Well, I guess they know now, if they didn’t already._

“Okay. Time to clean up,” Stiles says, slapping Derek’s shoulder, “You wanna call my dad, or should I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liked this. I'm such a fan of Liam/Stiles bonding, if you didn't notice. I like to think it could happen. Anyways, I hope you enjoy!


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